


Where We Stand Vigilant

by glitterandgin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunion, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:18:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandgin/pseuds/glitterandgin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathaniel notices some worrying changes in Anders, and decides to do something about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for this prompt: Anders and Nate were in a relationship until Anders ran away from the Wardens, so Nate is understandably angry at Anders when he first sees him in the Deep Roads. But then he takes a good look, and notices how sad and tired Anders looks. He remembers Anders as always well groomed, shiny hair, pristine robes, healthy weight, maybe even a bit chubby from all the celebrating after the Mother was defeated. But the current Anders is too skinny, has oily skin and hair, threadbare clothes, looks like he hasn't slept in a year. So all the anger disappears and Nate goes all protective on his lover, maybe even refuses to go back because Anders looks like he needs him more than the Wardens.   
> Anders is indignant at first, but also secretly happy to see Nate, and that someone wants to take care of him :)

“Nate,” Anders said, holding his staff with both hands to keep from reaching out and making a mistake. They stood just off to the side of where the party had set up camp for the night, granting them enough privacy for their discussion.

“Don’t,” Nathaniel said, the word clipped as though the cavern’s darkness had cut it short.

“I’m sorry.” The words felt like pebbles trying to dam a flooded river.1 It was an effort, a start, but it would never be enough. “I’m sorry if I hurt you when I left, but--”

“‘If’?” Nathaniel said, his tone brittle and cold. “‘If’ you hurt me? You left without a goodbye, without even bothering to end our relationship, and then you don’t think write for eight years. I had no idea you were alive until now. I _might_ be a little hurt, Anders.”

Anders shook his head, endless apologies dying in his throat as once again he became acutely aware of the rock surrounding him. He took a deep breath, held it as he counted to eight in his head, and slowly released it. He repeated this two times until his prospects of breathing normally looked better.

As he’d focussed on his breathing, the anger on Nathaniel’s face had morphed into concern as his gaze panned up and down Anders’ body. Anders frowned and looked away, half-wishing Nathaniel would go back to glaring at him. At least he knew how to react to that.

Nathaniel gently pried one of Anders’ hands away from his staff and held it, studying it as though he’d never seen it before. Anders started at the action, but made no motion to move his hand away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hand shaking slightly. He began to pull it out of Nathaniel’s so he could return to camp, but Nathaniel squeezed it gently. He stopped, brow furrowed in silent question.

“I have some extra rations in my pack,” Nathaniel said, taking a step closer. “Would you like to eat with me?”

Anders blinked, then smiled. “That would be nice.”

When they returned to the campsite, only Hawke and Varric looked up. Anders kept his face as blank as possible while Nathaniel led him to where he’d set up his tent. Nathaniel dug through his pack and produced a sizeable collection of rations for a simple trip in the Deep Roads. He handed half to Anders.

“I have my own food,” Anders said, attempting to hand the small mountain of rations back to Nathaniel. Nathaniel pushed it back into his hands.

“And now you have more of it,” Nathaniel said, smiling slightly when Anders stopped trying to return the food. “Just eat some. Please.”

Anders sat in front of Nathaniel’s tent and unwrapped a parcel of dried meat. Nathaniel stared at him expectantly until he took a bite, rolling his eyes as he chewed.

“I know how to feed myself. I don’t need to be coached through the motions.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow and turned to his meal.

When Anders had eaten half of the meat, he began rewrapping it in the cloth.

“Aren’t you going to finish it?” Nathaniel said, placing a hand on top of his before he could finish wrapping the food.

“You can have it, if you want,” Anders said, making a move to hand it to him.

“That’s not what I was saying.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “I’ll finish it later.”

“After you’ve fainted on the battlefield?” Nathaniel said, his tone just a shred of emotion away from deadpan.

Anders huffed. “I didn’t know we’d switched roles. Should I start taking archery lessons?”

Nathaniel frowned and said, “Please just eat it.”

“If it will make you happy.”

“Happier than you can believe.”

When Anders had finished his meal, Nathaniel said, “You haven’t set up your tent yet, have you? We could share mine.”

“Ah,” Anders said, unsure that he’d be able to articulate more than that syllable. “Are you sure?”

Nathaniel helped him to his feet and said, “Absolutely. It’s your choice, however.”

Anders cupped Nathaniel’s cheek and leaned forward, almost kissing him but staying those few crucial centimetres away. “I’d love to.”

If he closed his eyes and ignored Varric’s sleep-talking, it was eerily similar to his time in the Wardens. Nathaniel had curled up behind him, draping an arm over his waist and breathing against the back of his neck. There was even the persistent push of darkspawn against the edges of his mind. And, he thought with a wry smile, Justice was there. Nathaniel’s lips brushed against his skin. He shivered, relaxed back into the embrace, and finally fell asleep.

#

“So… that’s the last of them?” Hawke said, swinging her sword at her side absent-mindedly.

Nathaniel nodded. He’d stayed by Anders’ side through most of the battle, and he remained there even as Anders moved to rejoin the rest of the team.

“Great! Well done, team. You’ll all get gold stars when we’re back in Kirkwall,” she said, nodding like a proud parent. “Stay safe, Nathaniel.”

“I’m coming with you.”

If a series of question marks could be translated into a noise, that would be the sound Hawke made. “I didn’t know the Wardens had an early retirement plan.”

“They’ll assume I’ve died with the rest of my party.” He turned and looked Anders in the eye. “I’m staying with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

At some point during the trip back to Kirkwall, Nathaniel had wrapped an arm around Anders’ waist. He’d tripped over something in his exhaustion--unpleasant, but not unusual, and not serious enough for him to actually fall--and Nathaniel had grabbed onto him like he was preventing him from falling off a cliff. His arm had remained there the rest of the trip, despite Anders’ protests that he knew how to walk by himself. By the time they’d reached Kirkwall, Anders had given up and leaned a little of his weight on Nathaniel as they walked.

“So, who’s up for celebratory ‘we only got lost and nearly eaten in the Deep Roads twice’ drinks?” Hawke said as they stepped into Lowtown. “Varric, you’re--”

“You’re buying,” Varric said, laughing at Hawke’s grumbled curse at him beating her to the punch. He turned to Anders and Nathaniel, Aveline having already left for the barracks. “Well, Blondie? Blondie’s boyfriend? You coming?”

Anders tried to smile, hoping he didn’t look even half as drained as he felt. He was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep on his feet at one point, but he should have another few hours left in him before he crashed. “I should get back to my clinic.”

Nathaniel’s grip on his waist tightened almost imperceptibly. Ignoring Hawke and Varric, he said, “Lead the way.”

They’d already foiled two attempted muggings and fended off a particularly persistent herbalist when Nathaniel said, “So, this is Kirkwall.”

“It’s not usually like this,” Anders said, stepping over a pile of sick.

“Oh?”

“It’s usually on fire,” he said with the beginnings of a more genuine but equally tired smile. “You were squired in the Marches, weren’t you?”

Nathaniel nodded. “In Starkhaven. It was… very different from here.”

“I’d like to think Kirkwall’s one of a kind,” Anders said, tilting his head as he thought more on that topic. He added, “I certainly hope it’s one of a kind.”

Nathaniel snorted, though his amusement quickly dissipated when they reached Anders’ clinic. “This is where you work?”

“And live,” Anders said, lighting the lantern with a bit of magic. “You get used to it after a while.”

The clinic was in the same state of threadbare cleanliness he’d left it in before they’d travelled to the Deep Roads. He led Nathaniel to the small room just past his collection of cots. It had just enough space for his own bed and a desk, with a gap about a foot wide between them.

Anders gestured to the cot. “Make yourself at home. I have a bit of work to do before bed.”

Nathaniel frowned. “You’re half-asleep as it is. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I wish,” Anders said, attempting to swallow a yawn and almost succeeding. “But Justice is restless enough as it is. I’m not sure I could put it off any longer.”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows, still frowning. That might have been the end of the argument if Anders’ knees hadn’t buckled, forcing Nathaniel to support even more of his weight and granting him the opportunity to help Anders into bed before he could protest. He climbed into bed behind Anders, and the warmth of Nathaniel’s body pressed up against his back severed the last tenuous connection between him and consciousness.

He woke early in the morning, when the ground was still cold and the sun hadn’t yet heated the sewage until the stench was practically a physical force. Nathaniel remained asleep behind him, smiling at the events unfolding in his dream. It would be so easy to lay back down and sleep for a few more hours, to enjoy being held for the first time in years, but he’d already slacked off on writing his manifesto. Justice paced back and forth in his brain like a caged tiger, and it made him want to scratch himself raw. With a sigh and backwards glance at Nathaniel, he slipped out of bed to resume writing his manifesto.

“How long have you been up?”

Anders dropped his quill and turned to face Nathaniel, his heart beating at least twice its normal speed. “Maker, I nearly died of fright!”

“If we’re making a list of things that could have killed you, ‘fright’ would be at the very end,” Nathaniel said, resting a hand on Anders’ shoulder. “Have you eaten?”

Anders made a noise that he hoped conveyed the idea that, were he to make a list of things in order of importance, breakfast would rank slightly above fancy Orlesian trinkets. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“I see,” Nathaniel said, rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly. Then, without preamble, he turned and pulled his boots on. “There’s a market nearby, isn’t there?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to--”

Nathaniel was out the door before he could finish his sentence. 


	3. Chapter 3

“I’d like to speak with Justice.”

Anders froze in place, his heart hammering in his throat. “What? Why?”

“He was-- _is_ my friend, too,” Nathaniel said, moving forward to take Anders’ hand. “I have questions for him.”

Anders glanced around the clinic, which was empty for once. He waited for Hawke to kick the door open while shouting about yet another ill-advised call to adventure, but the door remained obstinately shut. He shook his head, more in hopes of dispelling the conversation than as a response. “He’s changed.”

“So have you,” Nathaniel said, rubbing his hand with his thumb. “I’d like to speak with him, Anders. Please.”

Anders swallowed, already knowing that he would agree. He nodded once, slowly. “But not out here. In the bedroom.”

Nathaniel followed him to the bedroom, closing the door behind them and frowning as he searched for a lock. Having found none, he sat on the bed.

“Right. Are you--?” He searched desperately for some sign of uncertainty in Nathaniel’s expression and found none. He sighed. “You are. Here goes.”

It was like drowning. For each inch he sank lower into his mind, letting Justice come to the forefront, he attempted to claw his way back into control. He was slipping further away, deeper into his mind; he was trapped. He put every ounce of his being into trying to so much as twitch a muscle, but his attempts yielded nothing. It was like throwing himself against a stone wall; it only left him worse for wear.

But then, so subtly that he didn’t notice it at first, a stillness overtook him. For the briefest of moments, he could imagine Justice as he was in the Wardens, standing between Anders and danger. And in that split second, his fear vanished.

“Justice,” Nathaniel said. It was like listening to him while underwater; he processed everything more slowly.

“Nathaniel.”

“We need to talk about Anders,” Nathaniel said, standing. “I won’t pretend to know your motives for merging, but I have to ask--did you ever take his well-being into account?”

“He would have died without my intervention,” Justice said, and if Anders didn’t know better, he’d think the spirit sounded just a tad defensive.

“So you saved him only to have him work himself to death?” Nathaniel said, his expression and tone almost worryingly neutral.

“Anders is in no--”

“Anders nearly fainted from exhaustion this morning,” Nathaniel said, crossing his arms.

 _Anders is right here and can make his own decisions_ , he thought, hoping he’d somehow managed to telepathically convey that message.

“He’s not a spirit. He still needs food and rest, more than he’s getting now. You’re his friend. Help me with this.”

Anders felt his head nod once, crisply. Then, with a shock like being dunked in ice water, he came back to himself. He stumbled forward into Nathaniel’s arms.

“You should take a nap,” Nathaniel said, already leading him to the bed.

“My patients--” Anders said, making a feeble attempt at leaving Nathaniel’s embrace.

“I’ll wake you if there’s an emergency.”

Anders nodded, his eyes already closed as Nathaniel tucked the thin blanket around him. He was nearly asleep when someone kicked the clinic door open.

“Anders?” Hawke called out, her voice growing louder as she approached his bedroom.

Anders sat up, his eyes still half-closed. Nathaniel gestured for him to lie back down.

“Can I help you?” Nathaniel said, opening the bedroom door.

“Oh, it’s you,” Hawke said in a tone that implied she’d entirely forgotten Nathaniel’s existence until that moment. She peered over his shoulder at Anders. “Anders, get up. We’re going to the Gallows.”

Anders rubbed his eyes and walked until he stood just behind Nathaniel. “Do you think I’ll be needed there?”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Well, considering the last time I left you behind I ended up nearly dying at the Harimanns’, I figured I should bring you along and save everyone the trouble of dragging me to your clinic.”

Anders turned, shuffled over to his desk, and grabbed his staff. He was already leaning most of his weight on it when he said, “Lead the way.”

“I’m coming with you,” Nathaniel said. Anders tried to ignore the disapproving glance Nathaniel had aimed at him.

“The more the merrier, I guess,” Hawke said, already turning away from them. “Let’s go see what Orsino wants this time.”

#

“Is this… the Kirkwall Circle?” Nathaniel said as they approached the gates. They’d walked in relative silence, with Nathaniel only answering Varric’s questions in simple sentences.

“It’s either that or a really bad spa,” Hawke said. “I’m still trying to figure that one out.”

“You’re taking Anders,” Nathaniel said, pausing to gesture at him with the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Anders’ waist. “To the Kirkwall Circle.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving him here,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, he’s been here loads of times. He’ll be fine. Won’t you, Anders?”

Anders blinked several times in rapid succession and said, “‘m fine, Nate.  They won’t do anything while Hawke’s here.”

“I’m not just worried about them,” Nathaniel said so quietly that Anders questioned whether he’d actually heard it. “You’ll let me know if you need to leave, won’t you?”

Anders nodded, his eyes already drooping half-shut once more.

After agreeing to prove the Circle’s innocence (there was a loaded term if Anders had ever heard one), Hawke led them back into the courtyard, stopping suddenly and nearly causing a collision. She said, “See, Nate? I can call you Nate, can’t I? I told you he’d be fine. We’re playing Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man tonight, care to join?”

“I’ll be there,” Nathaniel said with a small smile. “I’d like to get to know Anders’ friends.”


	4. Chapter 4

If everyone else’s expressions were any indication, they’d sooner expected Anders to arrive accompanied by a squad of templars than with a romantic partner. While Merrill’s confusion immediately gave way to incandescent beaming and Isabela looked like she’d already written several new works of friend fiction in her head, Fenris’s expression had shifted from mild annoyance at Anders’ presence to what appeared to be severe indigestion when he noticed Nathaniel’s arm around Anders’ waist. Anders wondered if he’d get sick if he and Nathaniel kissed.

“You never told us you had a boyfriend, Anders,” Isabela said, eyeing Nathaniel with a half-smile. “Did you have a heartfelt reunion in the Deep Roads? Multiple ones? Ooh, I can just imagine it.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow and took a seat across the table from Fenris, leaving Anders with the choice of sitting away from him or taking the seat positioned between them at the head of the table. With a sigh and scowl at Fenris, Anders took the seat at the head.

“Are you a Grey Warden, too? Will there be more of you coming?” Merrill said as Varric dealt out the cards.

“We know _they_ are,” Isabela said, still smiling.

Fenris made a disgusted noise.

“I’m the only one joining Anders for now,” Nathaniel said, placing a hand over Anders’. “My reasons are... more personal than official.”

“Watch what you say about that,” Hawke called from across the table. “All this is going in Varric’s next book.”

“Now, how am I supposed to learn all the salacious details if you keep warning people?” Varric said, taking a swig of ale.

“I don’t know,” Aveline said, looking at her cards with distaste. “You seem to be doing well enough so far.”

“Oh, come on, Aveline,” Varric said. “Anyone could’ve guessed that you and Donnic like--”

“Unless the last part of that sentence is ‘those little cakes they sell at the market sometimes’, I think we’re all happier not knowing,” Hawke said, placing several coppers on the table. “I’m in. Everyone else?”

There was a general shuffling of cards, culminating in Anders and two others folding. Fenris drew another card from the pile and said, “I’m surprised the mage found someone to voluntarily listen to his sanctimonious ramblings. Tell me, was he this insufferable before he became an abomination?”

Anders opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, Nathaniel said in the a tone so dry it could be used as kindling, “Positively intolerable. Every time he opened his mouth, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to punch or kiss him. It was torture, really.”

Fenris’s expression could have fermented juice. “I wasn’t aware insanity was such an attractive trait.”

If Fenris’s expression was soured juice, Nathaniel’s was poisoned wine. “I’m not familiar with Tevinter customs, but in Ferelden we typically tried to stay on topic during conversations.”

“The mage is mad. Anyone can see that,” Fenris said, the cards wrinkling ever so slightly in his hand.

“Even the people who come to his clinic?”

Hawke coughed nervously. “Um, guys? Could you hold off on eviscerating each other until after I’ve won all your money?”

Fenris tossed his cards on the table. “I fold. I find myself in need of a change of scenery.”

The table was silent except for the creak of wooden chairs as Fenris stalked away. Then, in a small voice, Merrill said, “Do you think we’ll have to pull him out of the harbour again?”

#

“You didn’t have to do that,” Anders said as they entered his clinic. “I’ve been arguing with him for seven years; I know how to hold my own.”

Nathaniel took Anders’ hand, prompting him to look back. When he’d turned around, Nathaniel pulled him into his arms and kissed him, eight years’ worth of unspent passion and desperation poured into each slide of lips and tongue. Nathaniel pulled back, face flushed as he continued to embrace Anders, and said, “I know you do. I did that for my benefit.”

Anders smiled and shook his head. He leaned forward and rested his head on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “And here I thought you were noble. Does this mean I shouldn’t expect you to whisk me off to a palace where I’ll be waited on hand and foot?”

Nathaniel chuckled, the noise vibrating through his chest and into Anders’. “Only if you don’t mind the palace and servants looking suspiciously like Vigil’s Keep and the Wardens.”

“Might as well stay here, then. I’d make a terrible damsel in distress, anyway,” Anders said, moving out of Nathaniel’s embrace. He redid his ponytail and said, “Will you have to have another talk with Justice if I stay up to work on my manifesto?”

Nathaniel smiled and said, “He can consider himself on probation. Do you promise to go to bed when you’re tired?”

“I have so far, haven’t I?”

“You’ve fallen asleep at your desk. That’s not the same thing,” Nathaniel said, stepping forward and placing his hands on Anders’ hips. He kissed him, a light peck on the lips, and said, “Do it for me?”

Anders licked his lips and nodded, Justice surprisingly quiet in the back of his mind. “For you.”


End file.
